


the mortifying ordeal of being known

by Jace_Diaz_Of_Hell



Category: Final Space (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, polyspace babies, this is just self indulgent as fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23541190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jace_Diaz_Of_Hell/pseuds/Jace_Diaz_Of_Hell
Summary: During a photoshoot with a popular magazine, Nebula realizes just how well her bodyguard knows her.
Relationships: Nebula Goodspeed/Pepurr, Original Female Character/ Original Non-human character
Kudos: 3





	the mortifying ordeal of being known

When the magazine contacts Nebula, she thinks she’s dreaming and has to actually pinch her own arm to double check. And then she confirms that yes, she would be interested, and the date and time they want her there. 

She’s a little excited- they’re going to do her makeup, give her outfits and interview and photograph her. It’s going to be a blast, she’s sure of it. She thinks it’ll be safe.

Her manager ends up insisting Pepurr go with her anyways- after all, he  _ is  _ her bodyguard. 

“You don’t have to come.” She tells him, and watches as he laughs and reminds her he kind of does because it’s literally his  _ job _ .

(She tries to ignore the feeling of warmth that bursts in her chest, attempts to replace it with annoyance.  _ Stupid  _ crush,  _ stupid  _ feelings. She doesn’t need this. She’s just a job to Pepurr.)

* * *

The day of the shoot comes and she has to sit still. For a  _ long  _ time. She should be used to this, because stage makeup takes forever too. Except when they do stage makeup, she usually has the other girls chatting her ear off, keeping her distracted. Gossiping and forcing her to try not to laugh. 

This time, there’s nothing to do but try and rehearse what she plans on saying in her head, tries not to fidget while the makeup and hair artists work in silence. She wants to keep her backstory as vague as she possibly can while not boring them, so maybe she can focus more on her vlogs that she started as a teenager, maybe emphasize her love of makeup as a kid. Maybe she can get into some of her other antics, like the week she wore heelies “in the house” (on the ship) till her mother had to intervene.

“Hold still.” Says one of the stylists, and Nebula stops. She hadn’t even realized she was bouncing her leg. 

“Sorry,” She mumbles sheepishly, glad they weren’t working on any small details like eyes or lips. 

A few minutes pass and Nebula feels like she’s about to lose it, but she forces herself to sit still, eyes ahead and hands in her lap. 

One of the workers  _ finally  _ seems to take pity on her and decides to start debating what they should do with her hair. They’re working on her lips at the moment so Nebula has to stay silent, but at least there’s not  _ nothing  _ going on anymore. 

Pepurr, just barely on the edge of her peripheral vision, scoots over enough so it's easier for her to see him before he pointedly rolls his eyes. 

_ You’re  _ **_really_ ** _ into this kind of thing?  _ He mouths at her, and Nebula struggles not to grin while they apply the lipstick, but she does raise one eyebrow in a  _ can you believe?  _ Kind of way. 

He snorts slightly, and Nebula can’t help but crack and giggle a little, just as they finish working on her mouth. 

They shush her again, but he grins at her crookedly before she has to close her eyes for the eyeshadow, her heart racing. 

* * *

Once she’s done with hair and makeup (they talked about straightening it, but eventually decided on curling it and teasing it some), they bring her into an interview, and ask her all kinds of questions. 

She keeps her smile pasted on, the bubbly pop star persona rising to the surface as she gives half-answers, deflects, jokes,  _ lies.  _

She talks about the vlogs. She talks about makeup.

(She doesn’t talk about being sixteen and returning from a shopping trip, about kneeling in front of her nephew and telling him he wasn’t freaky and no one had the right to judge him. The memory burns in the back of her mind as she sidesteps questions about her family.)

When they pose her with a guitar as the photoshoot begins, someone asks if she knows how to play it, or if someone else just subbed in the chords and had her pretend. Nebula outright laughed, and asked if they had a request. 

When they didn’t come up with anything, Nebula picked a song at random.

“ _ If I die young, bury me in satin, lay me down on a bed of roses, sink me in the river at dawn, send me away with the words of a love song…”  _

“Not pop?” Pepurr asked dryly, once the song was finished, and Nebula grinned at him.

“I’m a girl of many talents.” She said lightly, watching as he rolled his eyes, though not as exaggeratedly as he had when she had had to be quiet. 

“Clearly.” He says, and then they start snapping photos. 

* * *

“So, just how much of that was bullshit?” Pepurr asks, once the interview and the shoot are over and they’re on their way home.

“What makes you think any of it was bullshit?” Nebula asks, making her tone as innocent as she can and giggling when he rolls his eyes. 

“Well, I know your favorite food isn’t any of the healthy shit you rattled off.” He pointed out. “Need I remind you I’ve helped you with your groceries? I  _ know  _ how much you like chocolate.”

Nebula laughs, not even bothering to pretend to be annoyed. She’s got three outfits custom-made for her in the bag hanging over her arm, she’s got an interview in a popular magazine that gets delivered to multiple planets, and she feels confident as hell. She’s too happy to pretend anything else at the moment. 

“Okay,” She says, “What makes you think anything else is bullshit?”

She pauses long enough to pull her hair back into a scrunchie, tired of having to push it out of her face every five seconds. To her surprise, Pepurr stops at her side. When she turns to look at him, he’s smirking down at her. 

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, Princess, but I  _ know  _ you- or, I know more about you than anyone else does. I’ve got you pinned.”

Nebula’s heart leaps into her throat. For the past three years, all she’s been worried about is people finding out too much about her. But the way he’s saying it- it’s not mocking, or being judgemental or threatening. It’s just a fact.

… Maybe she doesn’t mind having someone who knows her. Not if it’s him. 

She doesn’t say it though (that nasty little voice in the back of her head repeats that she’s just a job for him, and she ignores it while simultaneously accepting it’s right). She doesn’t pay attention to her racing heart or the blush rushing to her face. 

Instead, she grins at him.

“If you know me so well, then you know how much of it was bullshit.” She says, and watches as he snorts slightly, smiling.

… Yeah, today has been a good day. 


End file.
